


Grand Theft Piano

by Lunasong365



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: London, M/M, Piano, The Ritz, books by the foot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-19 23:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11324172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasong365/pseuds/Lunasong365
Summary: There wasn't always a table open for Crowley and Aziraphale at the Ritz.





	Grand Theft Piano

**Author's Note:**

> I discovered the concept of 'books by the foot' - decorating with books catered to a client's aesthetic - earlier this year and wondered what Aziraphale would think of it. This fic started with that thought but went through many iterations...  
> I was assured by a friend that piano/music students still play 'Heart and Soul' when noodling on the piano. This is a old tune (1938) perhaps now best known as the 'foot piano song' from the movie 'Big' with Tom Hanks, or apparently 'Family Guy' also featured it. Music by Hoagy Carmichael, lyrics by Frank Loesser. Multiple versions available on Youtube.
> 
> I am grateful for the beta assistance of [NotASpaceAlien](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien).
> 
> The Long Gallery at the Ritz, London  
> [](https://www.oyster.com/london/hotels/the-ritz-london/photos/the-long-gallery--v13146830/)[The Ritz London](https://www.oyster.com/london/hotels/the-ritz-london/)

The maître d returned to the foyer with the colour drained from his face. He gripped the edges of the reservation podium for support before stumbling over the words of his announcement. 

“I… I’m terribly sorry, M…Mr Crowley,” he apologised. “We do…do not appear to…to have a table ready f…for you and Mr Fell.” 

“You don’t have a table ready,” Crowley flatly echoed. The young man wilted under the burning glare emanating from behind his patron’s idiosyncratic sunglasses. “Do you know how many years Mr Fell and I have been coming to the Ritz? Pfft. Get Raoul. Go on now, chop-chop!” The demon waved his hand with what he thought was a threatening gesture. Despite the number of years, for one very angelic Reason it was important that each occasion was flawless in execution.

The frightened employee skittered away as Crowley turned to his counterpart with a reassuring smile. “No worries, Aziraphale; this will soon be sorted. I was quite looking forward to the Menu Surprise today.”   

Aziraphale chuckled. “Did you think today would be the day it would surprise me?” He watched Raoul approach from across the restaurant. The distinguished-looking Head of Dining Services appeared quite agitated. 

“Sirs,” Raoul began, with a respectful bow. “Let me offer my deepest apologies. In all my years here, I know this is unprecedented. If I could wave my hand and make it so, I would do it. But I cannot offer you a table at this time. Won’t you please wait in the Gallery and I will personally escort you to your table when it is ready?” 

The only reason Crowley did not at that moment wave his hand to make it so was because Aziraphale had unexpectedly enfolded it in his to restrain him. Crowley tugged against his grip as Aziraphale reassured Raoul, “Yes, thank you; that will be quite alright.”

The angel steered him down the opulent hallway to a damask-upholstered seating area in a recess near the Grand Staircase. Crowley finally wrestled his hand free. “Our lunch is ruined! Why’d you say it was okay?” he hissed. 

“Because it is,” Aziraphale loftily asserted, examining his manicure for any demonic damage. “It is my duty to forgive, conditional upon the repentance of the offender, who, as you saw demonstrated, has with a sincere heart sought my forgiveness as the party harmed…” Crowley zoned out until a sudden exclamation from Aziraphale startled him. “Oh! Well, this is nice. They’ve provided a selection of books to peruse while we wait.”

Crowley sighed impatiently as Aziraphale studied an array of books attractively arranged on a marble shelf. The demon paced around the room before seating himself at the alcove’s Blüthner grand piano. He continued to sulk as Aziraphale selected a volume from the display. The angel held up a discreet business card. 

“Look at this! _Books provided by_ Books at Length _, London._ Phone, address, website… _We provide decorative books by the foot or the metre to match any aesthetic. By Appointment Only._ ” He turned the card over and continued to read. 

“ _Looking for shelf filler or decorating accent? We sell any volume of books – by type, subject, or colour – to create a special collection unique to your home or office._ Shelf filler? Decorating accent? Crowley! They’re treating books like commodities – something to have instead of to hold!”

Crowley muttered something under his breath. 

“I must say I like the idea of being open by appointment only. I should do that at my shop. Then I wouldn’t have to post hours. And no one knows my phone number…” Aziraphale paused to acknowledge the petulant demon, “…except you, of course. Why, this book is written in Swedish!”

He sat down and opened it anyway. 

Crowley idly started to plunk out ‘Heart and Soul’ at the keyboard, each iteration through the trite instrumental becoming a little more jazzy and complicated. He eventually started to sing along:

 

 _Heart and soul_  
_I fell in love with you._  
_Heart and soul_  
_The way a fool would do_  
_Madly…_  
_Because you held me tight._

 

Aziraphale glanced over the top of his book and adjusted his glasses. “Really, my dear,” he murmured. 

“What? You’re the one who wouldn’t let go of me!” Crowley shook his hand at the angel in mock indignation and started the next verse.  His reedy tenor reverberated down the Gallery.

 

 _Heart and soul_  
_I begged to be adored._  
_Lost control_  
_And tumbled overboard_  
_Gladly…_  
_That magic night we kissed._

 

That last lyric incited another raised eyebrow from Aziraphale, but Crowley had already segued loudly into the bridge.

 

_Oh! but your lips were thrilling, much too thrilling,  
Never before were mine so strangely willing._

 

Events circumvented Aziraphale’s further reaction. A hotel manager accompanied by a burly security guard in a dark tailored suit quickly approached from the other direction to interrupt the impromptu performance. “Mr Crowley,” she said respectfully, “I’m very sorry, but I must ask you to be quiet out of consideration for our other guests.” 

“What? You have a piano in your lobby and no one is allowed to play it?” Crowley was secretly delighted at the irony. He slammed the fallboard shut and the sensitive instrument reverberated in the enclosed space. “C’mon, Aziraphale, we’re leaving,” he huffed at the horrified manager. 

“But…” Aziraphale looked mournfully toward the restaurant. “Oh… whatever,” he said resignedly. He shrugged on his overcoat and tucked the card into the book to mark his spot before following the pseudo-enraged demon to the door. At the threshold, Crowley turned to give the steely-eyed guard one last salute, an insolent hand gesture which Aziraphale recognised as having an ulterior meaning. 

They left the manager wringing her hands nervously in the vestibule. Crowley turned toward Aziraphale, opening his umbrella to shelter him from the dreary drizzle. “You do realise you’ve just stolen a book from the Ritz?” Crowley chuckled. The angel sheepishly looked down at the book in his grasp. 

“Oh. Well. Yes. I suppose I have. But I also noticed that you stole that grand piano!” 

“Shame to leave it where it’ll never get used,” said Crowley. “It’ll be much happier where it’s going.” 

“Mmm. I’m sure your only motivation was selfless interest in the piano’s well-being.” 

“I could say the same about you and your book.”

“It was only there for decorative purposes,” Aziraphale defended. “It’s not like anyone else is going to appreciate it for its content. How many people in London read Swedish?” 

Crowley regarded him indulgently. _“Minst två. Men bara en som vill.”_   (At least two. But only one that wants to.)

 

Aziraphale moved in close under the umbrella as the pair walked north up Berkeley Street. The angel suddenly pointed across the street. “Oh look, a sausage cart! I haven’t seen a sausage cart in this part of London since… “ 

“Since [the May Fair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4007665), eighteen century,” Crowley mused. “It’s not exactly lunch at the Ritz, but shall we?” He held out his free hand toward the direction of the cart. 

As they waited for their frankfurters to be served, the drizzle finally subsided. Crowley closed his umbrella and tucked it under his arm before reaching for the wrapped sandwiches whilst Aziraphale paid the vendor. The two supernatural beings seated themselves on one of the ubiquitous benches that line the walkways in Berkeley Square. The inclement weather had left the park deserted and they were quite alone.

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“About that song you were singing… ” 

Crowley had already removed the paper wrapper from his hot dog. “Er. Just a trite bit of what you might call bebop. Nothing more.” He took a bite. Aziraphale hesitated a moment, then did the same. The angel and the demon settled into a companionable silence as they ate their al fresco lunch.

Robins emerged to peck at the worms stranded next to puddles and an errant ray of sunshine broke through the clouds, causing the droplets hanging from the tree leaves to sparkle. Aziraphale looked down at the book next to him on the bench. 

“I can’t help but feel we’ve both done a good deed today. I saved a book. You saved a piano.” 

"Oh, _bless_ it!" Crowley groused. "I don’t want it getting around, okay?" He tossed the end of his bun at a sparrow. 

“Although selling books only for appearances may not be that bad an idea,” Aziraphale reflected, returning to the events of earlier. “It does save the books from getting pulped. And having a piano just for show is better than none at all. I can think of worse aesthetics.”

“Tartan comes to mind,” said the demon. He stood up and reached down a hand to Aziraphale. 

“You,” said Aziraphale, taking the proffered hand, then removing Crowley’s sunglasses to give him a quick peck on the cheek, “are incorrigible.” The demon’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction – whether from the kiss or the epithet was debatable. 

They contentedly strolled together toward the Bentley, parked conveniently at the kerb. 

Aziraphale settled into the passenger seat. “I happen to know that piece you were playing at the Ritz has a four-hands version. Why don’t we head over to your flat and give it a go?” 

“Erm,” said Crowley with an amused smirk, “I think you’ve made a big assumption about where the piano went.” 

 

 _Now I see what one embrace can do._  
_Look at me, it's got me loving you_  
_Madly..._  
_That little kiss you stole_  
_Held all my heart and soul._


End file.
